


Home.

by confusedbi



Series: The tight knit family :) (Mostly Whizzer and Jason-centric) [1]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falsettos References, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Marvin (Falsettos) Being an Asshole, Multi, POV Whizzer Brown, Photographer Whizzer Brown, Whizzer Brown & Jason Friendship, Whizzer Brown Deserves Better, Whizzer Brown-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedbi/pseuds/confusedbi
Summary: Micah Brown never understood the concept of home.
Relationships: Dr. Charlotte/Cordelia (Falsettos), Jason & Marvin (Falsettos), Jason & Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Jason & Trina (Falsettos), Jason & Whizzer Brown, Trina/Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Series: The tight knit family :) (Mostly Whizzer and Jason-centric) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102850
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Home.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random idea I had. It's not the best but I thought it was sweet and I hope you like it :)))
> 
> Comments, Kudos, and Bookmarks is always appreciated. I love reading all your comments and they all make my day <3 
> 
> Also please give constructive criticism I'm trying to improve my writing hehe :)

Micah Brown never understood the concept of home. 

Since he was 3 years old, his parents never stopped fighting. His dad never stopped drinking. His mother never stopped yelling. His older brother, 15 years older than him, was gone all the time, leaving their so called “home” as soon as he graduated high school, not that little Micah could blame him. 

He never understood those commercials on the TV that showed a happy couple and a laughing kid. He never understood “The American Dream” or whatever they’re saying.

When he was 5, the beatings started. It started with simple spanks, which in his 5 year old mind was the most painful things in the world.

When he saw his classmates in kindergarten hug their parents, grinning when they saw them and yelling “Mommy” and “Daddy”, excitedly telling them how their day went, he didn’t understand it either. He didn’t understand how they’re happy to see their parents. Because for little Micah, going-home-time was the worst part of kindergarten. 

Micah always felt like he was the odd one out. He never got interested in basketball or football, or a game of tackle like the rest of the boys in elementary was. He was definitely more interested in princesses, he was more interested in dancing, and found girls much more fun to hang out with than boys. 

When boys in his class doted over girls, how pretty they are, and how they wanted to kiss them, he didn’t understand it. Sure, girls are gorgeous, but boys are the ones who is attractive. Their jawline, their muscles, their voice, was what Micah found himself staring and paying attention at. His mom’s heels were fun to wear, and makeup was fun to play with.

But of course, when his parents started getting suspicious on why 6-year-old Micah Brown always stared at boys and hung out with girls, they started kicking the beating up a notch. Every time Micah mentioned Disney instead of sports, he’d get spanks until his bottom was red and he couldn’t sit on it, leaving him a crying mess. Every time he declined to watch a game of sports and decided on dancing, he would get slapped and spanked. If his father was having a particularly bad day, he would get whipped with the belt. While beating him, his parents would often say “No Brown will be a fag!” He didn’t understand what “fag” meant, and absolutely hated that word. He hated his house, his parents, the damned wooden spoon, and the belt. 

His temporary saving grace came at the age of 12, when he started showing great interest towards baseball. Though his parents’ constant fighting never died down, at least his beatings did. He could live with that. It still wasn’t home, but it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. 

Then, 14 year old Micah had to ruin everything. He sometimes talked about boys, and the beatings came back. When he invited boys over, even if it was just for a stupid school project, his parents would kick them out and beat Micah up until he was bruised, sometimes bloody. He’d pass out sometimes, especially if he cried, because when tears start to fall, only more punches will be thrown. His back was often whipped raw, but his tears only came once he was tucked under the blankets, in the safety of his own room. 

By the time he was 16, the beatings would go as far as broken ribs, but he could only stay silent. No doctor, no painkillers, no one to call for help. The bullies in high school didn’t make it easier either. 

For Micah, a house is just a structure. His house was some sort of death trap, littered with beer bottles and broken glass, filled with constant shouting, housing two horrible monsters inside. 

He was known as the quiet kid in class. The quiet, gay kid. No one talked to him, no one wanted to be close to him either, scared that they will catch his “gayness” or whatnot. The only interaction he has ever had with any of them was when they shoved him in the hallways, beat him up, or threw him in dumpsters.

He would be away from home as much as possible. Even though sometimes, that would be the sole reason for his beatings, it was worth it. 

He stole his dad’s camera one night, it was buried deep in the attic and it was covered in dust as if no one have touched it in 30 years. It was a Kodak film camera. 

Next thing Micah knew, he started buying films, capturing moments, and developing them. It was his escape. It was what he spend his hours doing, playing with the exposure, making sure his photographs were perfect.

But whenever he gets back to his structure of horror, the two people who was supposed to love him and care for him but ended up abusing him, Micah was reminded once again that “home” didn’t exist.

At 17, he was caught kissing a boy by his parents. He was given 30 minutes to pack his things in an old leather suitcase, then told to never come back and that they never wanted to see his face ever again. In the bitter cold rain, he cried, sitting in the front porch when the door slammed shut behind him. However, that moment was short-lived because his dad reopened the door just to yell at him to “fuck off and leave”. 

He scurried to his feet, walked to the bus station, hopped on the first ride to New York City, and never looked back. 

As soon as he arrived in the Big Apple, he changed his name to “Whizzer”. The only nickname people called him that wasn’t derogatory or mean, given because he was a fast runner in his middle school baseball team. 

He slept on the streets, and to get by he started blowing a guy or two. The city that people dreamed about, described as the greatest city in the world, didn’t seem to great after all. At least it was better than a broken rib or the constant fear in his house. 

Once he got enough money, he managed to stay in crappy motels. He started modelling, although he much preferred being behind the camera. 

He finally got hired as a photographer in a studio at the age of 20, and finally managed to get a shoebox apartment. He got his dream job, he lives in the city everyone wants to live in. But Whizzer still didn’t understand what “home” is. 

Years later, he met a man named Marvin. He just divorced his now ex-wife, and Whizzer learned he had a 10 year-old son named Jason. They started as a simple drunk hookup. One turned to two, two turned to three, three turned to four, and before he knew it he started a “relationship” with Marvin.

Marvin was controlling. Demanding. Belittling. Selfish. He treated Whizzer like a housewife. They fight more often than not, and it usually ends with one of them pinned up against the wall a moaning mess or one of them storming out of the house, slamming the door loudly behind. 

People say when you’re in a relationship, you’ll realise the person you’re with is home. How home is a person, not a place, the way you can feel entirely comfortable and safe. The multitude of songs written about it, the poem, the stories, all says so. So Marvin is supposed to feel like home. But he doesn’t.

When his suitcase is kicked thrown in front of him, over a chess game, Whizzer felt like he was back to his teenage years. Kicked out. Disowned. So he packed his things and left. 

Home doesn’t exist for one Whizzer Brown.

He was back to his old routine. Take photos of people during the day, blow guys during the night, sleep in crappy motels that doors could be broken into by the slightest force. 

Except, there was one thing that made him feel slightly warm, slightly content. Jason. His smile, his laughter, the way the kid walks or plays chess, Whizzer just loves it. His heart swells with pride whenever that kid got another A+ or won a chess tournament. If there was one thing he misses throughout the breakup, it was that kid. So when Jason reached out to him 2 years later to invite him to a baseball game, Whizzer was more than happy to attend. 

Much to Trina’s displeasure, he and Marvin got back together. Marvin changed. That’s for sure. He’s more kind, loving, caring. He is more gentle and definitely less demanding. He stopped treating Whizzer like a housewife. He stopped acting like the whole world revolves around him.

Less fights occurred. In fact, it was almost nonexistent. They spent their evenings cuddling together, watching TV while sipping wine or sharing how their day went. Even their two lesbian neighbours, Charlotte and Cordelia, was now a huge part of their lives. They often spend dinners together, joking like friends in college do. 

Jason was more than happy whenever he came to visit, his intelligence always wowed Whizzer in a way. He was close with him, and the two quickly become an unlikely duo. The first person Jason told about anything that happens in school is always Whizzer. The girls he liked or what happened during baseball practice that day, or how the math tests had no correlation to the actual topic.

As the months went by, Trina came around. She welcomed Whizzer with open arms, and Mendel was fun to joke with. His stupidity and oblivion is beyond ridiculous, but the 7 of them was everything Whizzer wanted and more.

He was happy, truly. Every time they gathered together as a tight-knit-family, Whizzer’s heart is always filled with warmth it feels like it’s exploding at the seems. He felt welcomed, loved, appreciated. He felt comfortable. Like he could go through anything in life when they are by his side.

When he looked around the room, Whizzer saw the most beautiful sight in front of him. The way Jason’s eyes crinkle while he laughs, or Cordelia threatening to throw a spoon at him for laughing as her face was covered with flour, Charlotte who was wheezing but made her way to hug her, Trina who is fussing over Mendel who just spilled a cup of tea, Mendel utterly confused, and the love of his life, Marvin, looking at him full with love. 

For the first time in his life, Whizzer Brown understood what “home” is. 

He was home.


End file.
